


Take My Hand (I'll Guide You Home)

by KamikazeWorld



Series: Once More, With Feelings [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (boys please talk about your feelings), Angst, Crying, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Trauma, aggressively Not talking about feelings, but they're trying, neither of them is equipped to handle this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-05-18 22:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamikazeWorld/pseuds/KamikazeWorld
Summary: After finally being freed from the SQUIP, Rich struggled to adjust. He had spent two years constantly following instructions on how to act and what to say; he wasn't sure who he was without it anymore.And Jake? Jake just wanted his best friend back.





	1. A Rocky Start

Jake took a deep breath as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. He rolled down the long corridor, eyes moving over the numbered signs next to them in search of the right one.

His stomach had been in knots since he came back to the hospital. He wasn't there for himself and his broken legs this time, though, but to visit…

…

Could he still call him a friend?

Jake shook his head to rid himself of the thought, trying hard to swallow down the onslaught of different emotions that ran through him ever since Chloe had shown him the text informing them that Rich had woken up again as he finally located the room number the receptionist had given him.

With another deep breath to steel himself, Jake pushed the door open slowly, trying to peek inside before he opened it more fully to allow for his wheelchair to pass through. Getting around on it was still hard, and the wheel bumped against the doorframe slightly. He cursed internally at the annoyance of it all, before directing his attention back to the hospital room, and completely froze at what he saw.

In the middle of the room, lying on one of three beds, was Rich. The still unconscious form of Jeremy was in the one next to him, but Jake could only spare him a glance as he took in the large cast and bandages that covered most of Rich's burnt body. The room was dimmed by the drawn blinds over the windows, bathing everything in a somber hue. It should've been calming, but Jake felt anything but as he got close enough to really look at Rich. His face was scraped and bruised; his eyes were closed, but even then his face seemed drawn in discomfort and pain.

"Holy fuck, Rich…" Jake whispered, trying to understand how it had gotten this bad; how it had happened at all. Rich fluttered an eye open and glanced in his direction, and Jake felt for a moment like he couldn’t breathe.

"That you, Jake…?" he asked, voice quiet. He tried to move but immediately winced, and Jake finally crossed the last distance between them.

"Hey, don't move. You're going to hurt yourself," he said, concern gripping at his chest. Rich let out a snort.

"Worse than I already have, you mean?"

He did stop trying to move, and Jake counted it as a small win. Silence fell over them for a moment as he tried to think of something to say. There was so much, his mind completely screaming with it, but it was also too much; the thoughts all collided into an incoherent mess, his feelings having been fighting each other since he first thought of visiting Rich. He was angry. He was confused. Most of all, though, he was just worried, and he let that worry guide him.

“How, uh. How do you feel?” he asked awkwardly. Rich gave him a flat look in response.

“I was in the ICU for two and a half days. What do you think?” he said, and Jake had to stop himself from cringing. He opened his mouth to reply, but Rich continued. “‘Sides,” he muttered, “shouldn't you worry about your own fucked up body first?” It made Jake blink, and he looked down at his own plaster covered legs for a moment. Almost subconsciously, he moved a hand to rub at the material. The movement didn't go unnoticed; Rich looked away.

They lapsed into silence once more.

Jake took another glance around the dim room. His eyes landed on Jeremy in the bed next to Rich. He was hooked up to something or other, but to Jake it just looked as though he was sleeping. He looked almost peaceful.

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?” he found himself asking. “I mean, he's the last one. It's… kind of worrying.”

After the play had gone terribly wrong, they’d all apparently passed out for a while. They had been brought to the hospital, but all of them woke up one by one and had checked in with each other; Jenna Rolan had told them some creep had snuck them all ecstacy and that’s what caused it all. Now, though, the only one still remaining unconscious was Jeremy Heere. A little voice in the back of Jake’s mind wondered if he’d ever wake up at all.

He tried to shake the thought away, and realized that Rich had never replied. He looked back at him, only to find him staring at Jeremy with a pained expression on his face. Jake had never really been good at reading into things like that, but he could swear one of the many emotions swirling in Rich’s eyes was guilt. It made Jake frown. What did Rich have to feel guilty about when it came to Jeremy? The only thing Jake knew that he could feel guilty about was…

Images of fire flashed in his mind, the smell of smoke and the screams and crackling and heat, _so much heat--_

He shook his head, trying to push the memories back. Rich had turned his eyes away from Jeremy and was staring blankly at the ceiling now. The silence hung thick around them, the only sound in the room their breathing and occasional beeps. Jake swallowed thickly.

He still didn't understand anything; couldn't wrap his mind around the things that happened over the last week.

So he broke the silence, and asked the questions that had plagued his mind since Halloween.

"Rich,” he said, getting the other boy’s attention again, though his gaze seemed distracted, like he was looking through Jake rather than at him. “What the hell happened? Why'd you do it?"

There was a pause, where Rich only stared blankly at him. Jake thought for a moment that Rich wouldn't reply at all.

"I was… really fucking out of it, man,” Rich said eventually. He sounded far away as he spoke. “I just… I wanted it to stop."

"Wanted what to stop?"

"… All of it. The voices, the pretending… I was so sick of it. So fucking tired." He let out a hollow laugh. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Jake. No one does."

"Dude, what are you talking about? Voices…?"

"It's a reaaally long story, and I don't have the energy to even start telling you. Sorry, buddy."

Jake wanted to press. "Sorry, buddy" wasn't even close to cutting it, considering his best friend burnt his fucking house down. But he looked at Rich - really looked at him - and took in the bags under his eyes, how pale he was, the casts and bandages covering most of his burnt and damaged body. Most of all, though, he took in Rich's eyes. They were dull, lifeless; staring far into the distance without really seeing. He looked like he was somewhere else, like a million thoughts weighed on his mind, and Jake couldn't help the feeling that he would just keep moving further and further away. It scared him.

Any words he had wanted to say - to yell, really - died in his throat. He looked away.

“I don’t have a house to go back to,” he said after a while, his voice quiet. He still couldn’t look at Rich.

“I know,” Rich whispered back.

“I don’t know what to do.” He felt pathetic just saying it, but it was true. He had no clue what to do next, where to go, how to contact his parents, if he even wanted to contact his parents… He didn’t know what was going through Rich’s mind. He didn’t know much of anything at the moment. His confession was met with silence for a long while, until Rich spoke so softly that Jake almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m sorry.”

It was like the words broke something inside of Jake. He felt burning tears well in his eyes, felt his body tremble as he tried to hold it all back, but it was futile. He took a shuddering breath that broke into a sob and suddenly it was all overflowing.

“You _burned_ my _house_ down, Rich! You-- look at yourself! You could have died! A lot of us could've died! Why the f-fuck--…” He tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but he only managed to gasp as tears flowed freely down his cheeks. His hands were balled up in his lap, nails digging into his palms. Rich wasn't looking at him. “Say something!” he shouted. But Rich remained silent, staring at the edge of his bed, face void of any expression or emotion. Jake gritted his teeth, tried to breathe.

The seconds passed; the only sounds in the room aside from occasional beeps being Jake’s sobs and labored breathing as he tried to stop his crying. After a few minutes, he finally managed to take a deep breath. He reached up to wipe his face, drying the tear tracks staining his cheeks. He glanced up at Rich, who was still staring blankly into the distance. He was too far away, he realized. Jake couldn't reach him.

Without another word, he turned his wheelchair around and left. Rich didn't try to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Rich/Jake side of the story is go! I'm about halfway done with chapter two, so that should be up in a while, too. 
> 
> Strap in, folks, we're in for a wild ride with these two.
> 
> Feel free to come scream with me about BMC or just say hi on my main blog:  
> <http://kamikazeworld.tumblr.com/>  
> Or hit me up on my art/writing blog:  
> <http://my-dreams-start-with-you.tumblr.com/>


	2. Let's Try Again

Over the next few days, Rich was gradually starting to feel better; he had gotten most of the cast removed (though he was still heavily bandaged), his headache subsided little by little, and while his body ached and his healing skin itched, he felt a little more alive again. So when the door opened after a short knock and Jake entered, looking tense, Rich tried to give a smile, despite the dread he felt over the sudden visit. He knew it looked shaky at best, though.

"Uh, hey, Jake," he said, drawing out the 'hey' a little longer than necessary. Jake gave a small smile in return.

"Hey," he said back, navigating his wheelchair to the side of Rich's bed. "How're you feeling, man?"

"Like hell," Rich answered. No point in lying, he figured. Jake grimaced and looked down at Rich's covered body.

"I can imagine…"

They lapsed into silence for a moment, both boys thinking about what to say. Unwittingly, their minds went back to their last conversation in that same room; it weighed around them, making the air feel heavy.

"Uh, so," Rich tried to speak up. He didn't know how to do this anymore, what to say, but the silence was starting to eat at him. "Jeremy told me what happened during the play. Are you going to be okay? With your legs and stuff."

"Yeah, don't worry. Doctor said it might take a little longer, but I should heal up okay," Jake explained, tapping lightly against one of the casts. Rich let out a breath.

"Thank fuck," he said. "I mean, shit, walking on broken legs is pretty stupid, even if you can't feel it-- I mean, uh…" He paused, went over what he just said, and winced. "Fuck. I'm just glad you'll get better again."

He looked at the ceiling just so he wouldn't have to see Jake's reaction, and missed the way the other's lips quirked into a smile.

"Yeah. Will you?" Jake asked. Rich let out a humorless snort.

"Probably. I'm still stuck here for the rest of the week, though, and it sucks. I just want to get the rest of my cast removed, go home and be able to move again without feeling like my body is dying," he said and groaned. "Man, I miss moving."

"Tell me about it," Jake said with a snort of his own, and while he didn't sound accusing, Rich couldn't help the cold guilt that gripped his body at the words.

It was his fault that his friend was stuck in a wheelchair with two broken legs, all because of his dumb decisions. So what if he had panicked? It was still his own fault. The SQUIP would tell him so. It would be reprimanding him that very second if it was still active.

"Hey, man, you still with me?"

"Wh-what?"

Rich snapped around to stare at Jake, startled out of his thoughts by his voice. He could feel cold sweat at the back of his neck. Jake was looking back at him with a concerned frown.

"You kind of spaced out for a while, and you're really pale right now. Do you need me to go get someone?" Jake asked, hands already moving to the wheels of his wheelchair, ready to leave, but Rich quickly shook his head.

"No, don't--" he swallowed. Tried again. "Don't. It's… I'm fine." Jake looked skeptical, but he stayed put, and Rich let out a sigh. "I'm just thinking about… stuff."

"Right…" Jake seemed to hesitate for a moment, and the anxiety already lurking in Rich’s stomach suddenly spiked up. “Anything you want to share?” he finally asked, and Rich instantly wanted to dismiss it, say no, laugh and move on; just like the SQUIP would’ve instructed. The thought was enough to halt him, though.

“I…” he started, but closed his mouth again. What could he even tell him? Where would he even start? “How much do you remember from the play?” he eventually said. Jake blinked at him, obviously not expecting the sudden question.

Before Jeremy had been released from the hospital, the two of them had gotten some time alone to talk. Michael had been the one to tell him how the SQUIPs were gone while he waited for Jeremy to wake up like a loyal puppy, but Jeremy told him how he had been tricked into squipping the rest of the school play cast, including Jake. They had talked for a long while that day, about the things their SQUIPs made them do; what they had made them give up.

“Oh, man, I don't even know,” Jake said, pulling Rich out of his thoughts. “It was a pretty bad trip.”

“Trip, right… Do you-- do you remember hearing, like… voices, or anything like that?”

"Uh… Actually, yeah. Dude, how'd you know?" He was looking at Rich with inquisitive eyes, a confused frown on his face. Rich took a deep breath. He was doing this. After two years of only ever telling the poor suckers his SQUIP told him to sell to, he was really doing this.

"Jake, you-- I mean… It-- it wasn't ecstasy. At the play."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know if you'll believe me, but…" He bit his lip, suddenly unsure. He didn't know if this was a good idea. He wasn't sure how to phrase it, how to make it believable. He needed his SQUIP to-- no. No, he did not need that hell computer back. He could do this on his own. He could! He just had to find the right words, make sure to not sound stupid, or lame, or _weird--_

He was startled out of his thoughts when he felt a hand carefully touching him, barely using pressure in case it would aggravate any harmed skin. Rich looked up at Jake's concerned face with wide eyes.

"You can tell me, bro. I dunno what's going on, but at least try me," he said. He looked like he was trying to be encouraging, and Rich swallowed. He _had_ to do this. Jake, of all people, deserved to know. His voice was shaky when he spoke again.

"It's called a SQUIP," he rushed out. "Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor. It's… It's a nano computer from Japan that you're supposed to ingest through this-- this pill, yeah? And it goes all the way through your blood until it implants in your brain. And once it's activated, it--" he cut himself off and took another deep breath. He knew he was speaking too fast; his head felt like it was spinning. "It, like, tells you what to do, how to act, what to say. Helps you to be cooler, better, to…" He cut himself off again and bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to fight against the onslaught of feelings that suddenly washed over him. He glanced up at Jake once he realized the other still hadn't said anything yet. “I know it sounds really out there, but it's what everyone swallowed during the play. And when everyone passed out, it's because Jeremy and his buddy Michael managed to shut them down.” He was still talking too fast, and his lisp had appeared halfway through, making him cringe internally. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the familiar zap that never came. He almost didn’t hear when Jake finally replied.

“That’s some fucked up sci-fi shit, bro,” he said, and Rich couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped him.

“You’re telling me.”

He looked at Jake, trying to take in his reaction. His face was drawn in a frown, eyes downcast as he tried to process what Rich had just told him. Rich couldn't really blame him; it's not exactly the most believable story, even though it was true.

“So you're telling me we have tiny computers in our heads now? How is that even possible?” he asked after a while, looking up at Rich again.

“Hell if I know. I mean, it’s Japanese.”

Jake opened his mouth, then paused, as if thinking it over, before shrugging.

“Yeah, that’s a fair point,” he said, and Rich let out a snort. What an incredibly _Jake_ reaction. “How do you even know about all this stuff, anyway?”

“I…” Rich started, but closed his mouth again. He could barely remember how he had found out about the SQUIPs anymore. In fact, he couldn't remember much from back then through the haze of his own depression and self loathing. The day he had gotten and activated his own, though, he didn't think he would ever forget. The nerves and especially the pain was seared into his mind forever.

“Rich?” Jake prompted, leaning forward to try to meet his eyes. “You sure I shouldn't get someone?”

“Uh-- yeah, no, it's-- I'm fine. Just spaced out for a second.” He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “I can't really remember how I found out about them, but-- but there's this guy, at Payless, who sells them, and I’d get a bunch from him to sell to others at school, and--”

“Wait, _you_ sold them?” Jake asked suddenly, interrupting him. Rich looked away and gave a jerky nod.

“The… the SQUIP wanted it. And I needed the money,” he mumbled. “Jeremy said he took the ones you guys swallowed from my locker, though, so I guess I don't have to worry about that anymore, huh?” He tried to joke, but he couldn't make his voice obey and it came out sounding shaky instead. Scared, almost, and he hated it. The SQUIP would punish him for that. He glanced at Jake, trying to keep his face neutral as he again tried to take in his reaction. He was still frowning deeply; one of his hands had moved to cover his mouth, a sign he was deep in thought.

“Wait, wait,” he said, slightly muffled by his hand. “You're saying Jeremy was in on this, too? And-- he's the one who, what, drugged us?”

“Uh,” was all Rich could answer. He had said too much, hadn't he? He said the wrong thing, and had thrown Jeremy under the bus in the process. He knew he was going to fuck up; he always did, without the SQUIP active, and now it was deactivated for good and he was completely on his own and was just going to keep fucking up--

He took a deep, shaky breath. Then another.

“Jeremy-- he had a SQUIP too,” Rich said, hating how small and unsure his voice sounded. Hated showing himself like this to anyone. Hated the tingling anticipation in his spine for pain that never came. “He said his SQUIP manipulated and… Well, forced him, I guess.” He shrugged, but winced when it pulled at the damaged skin on his shoulder. Jake’s expression instantly morphed to one of concern and his hands moved to hover near Rich, as if wanting to physically stop him from moving. “I'm fine,” Rich assured, and Jake reluctantly pulled back his hands, letting them fall in his lap.

They were silent for a moment, Jake no doubt still trying to process everything, and Rich not really wanting to say anything else when half the stuff that came out of his mouth ended up being the wrong thing. On some level, he wondered if it was karma. The thought made him chuckle, though it was completely devoid of any mirth. Jake looked at him questioningly, and Rich shook his head.

“You know, technically, this really was all my fault,” he said, before he could stop himself. “None of this would have happened if I hadn't told Jeremy about the fucking SQUIPs. Well, I probably would've still snapped, I kind of had that coming, but all the rest-- the play, everyone getting squipped and getting hurt… That's all on me. Fuck…”

Rich felt sick, suddenly; the guilt washed over him like a tsunami, bringing with it all of his self loathing and regrets. He swallowed hard against it, clenching his fists as hard as he could, digging nails into his palms, the pain a welcomed but ultimately unhelpful distraction. All the while, Jake was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher.

“Dude,” he said. “Rich. I don't really get all of this, but if these things were the ones to order Jeremy around, then it's their fault, right? Was… Was your-- uh… computer thing like that, too? Telling you to do stuff? Is… that why you set the fire…?”

His voice was quiet as he asked the last question, but it echoed too loudly in Rich’s ears. Jake was looking into his eyes, searching for something, but Rich didn't know what. He averted his gaze, turning it downward, scared that Jake would see something he didn't like.

As so many times before since Jake entered his hospital room, silence fell over them like a heavy blanket. Rich felt like he couldn't breathe; he didn't know what to say, how to explain that Jake was wrong about it not being his fault, how to even begin to pull at the night of the party. The longer the silence dragged on, the heavier it grew. Eventually, Jake sighed.

“Look, I can't force you to talk about it if you don't want to. But we should talk about it. You know we should, Rich.”

Rich still said nothing; still couldn't look at him. After another few seconds of waiting, Jake started turning his wheelchair around.

“I guess I'll see you,” he said. He sounded tired. Rich knew the feeling all too well. “Take care, dude.”

Only when the door closed behind him did Rich breathe again.

“Yeah,” he whispered, a quiet answer to the now empty room. “It was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand chapter two is up! I was going to sit on this until I got a bit further into chapter three, but it's giving me some trouble and I got impatient so here you go.
> 
> I'm maybe working on three things simultaneously, including chapter three, so we'll see if that or the kinda Michael centric one-shot will be done first, heh.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING, please leave a comment because I am desperate for validation lmao  
> Also come talk to me over at my art/writing blog: <http://my-dreams-start-with-you.tumblr.com/>


	3. It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY COW I AM FINALLY BACK WITH A NEW CHAPTER!! This one gave me so much trouble you guys, but I'm happy with how it turned out in the end. It's much longer than the previous chapters so hopefully that makes up for the long waiting time, and I'll try to make sure chapter four won't take nearly as long to finish
> 
> Please enjoy!

By mid-November, Rich was finally released from the hospital, after his doctor had deemed him well enough to continue his recovery at home. Jake hadn’t been able to visit again before his release, but he was honestly concerned about how well that recovery would go, given what he knew of Rich’s family.

He tried to send him a message, asking how he was doing now that he was back home, but it was left unread. Later that day he tried sending another message asking what was up, but that, too, was ignored. The next day was met with the same result as the previous. Jake frowned down at his phone, glaring at the little unread marks as though it would magically make them change. Next to him, he heard Chloe sigh.

“He’s not going to reply just because you stare at his profile picture like a creep, you know,” she said, before taking another bite of her dinner.

"I know that,” Jake replied. With a sigh of his own, he pocketed his phone and went back to eating.

He had been staying at Chloe’s house ever since the fire, since his parents were still who knows where and he had no relatives nearby. Mr and Mrs Valentine both adored Jake and hadn’t even hesitated to agree when Chloe had asked them if they could take him in, something he was endlessly grateful over. Sometimes, he thought as he looked at the pair across the dinner table, he wished they had actually been his parents, instead of the let’s-fuck-over-our-lives-and-leave-our-son-without-a-word assholes he got stuck with, but then he’d remember he had dated their daughter and it’d turn a little weird, because then Chloe would’ve been his sister and, yeah, no. Way too weird.

“Is everything alright, sweetie? You seem distracted,” Mrs Valentine said, pulling Jake out of his thoughts. He blinked up at her, then gave a charming smile.

“Oh yeah, just a bit tired. The food’s great as always, though.” He could practically feel Chloe rolling her eyes next to him, and he turned to give her a small smirk. She glared back.

“Well, if you say so,” Mrs Valentine said, smiling at the compliment. “Just don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything. We’d be more than happy to help. Right, dear?” She turned to her husband, who had been looking over something on his phone. He startled a little and glanced up at the people at the dinner table.

“What? Oh, uh, right,” he said hastily, then went back to whatever he was doing. His wife tutted and shook her head.

“I really do wish you wouldn’t work at the dinner table, you know. We’ve talked about this.”

“Mmhm…”

As her parents started debating dinner table etiquette, Chloe nudged Jake with her foot. He looked back at her with a questioning look, and she nodded to their plates.

“You done?” she asked. Jake looked at his nearly empty plate and considered it for a moment, but he found he didn’t actually have the appetite to finish, and gave her a nod. “Great. Mom, we’re going back to my room for a bit, bye,” she said and started dragging Jake’s wheelchair with her as she left, to which he gave a startled noise of protest.

“I hate that you can just drag me wherever you want now,” he muttered once they were in Chloe’s room. She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.

“Is that really any different from how it’s always been?” she asked. When Jake grabbed one of her pillows to throw at her, she just laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh along with her; it was that laugh that had originally made him attracted to her what felt like forever ago. Even now, after they had broken up _again_ (how many times had it been now?) he still loved the sound of it. He still loved _her_ , but after everything that happened in-between Halloween, the play, and all the drama that came with it, they had mutually decided it was best to not date again after all. It felt too complicated, too messy to Jake at that point, even after they had hooked up again at his party before things went to shit.

He was once again pulled from his thoughts by a hand waving in front of him.

“Huh, what?” He blinked up at Chloe, who had a slight frown tugging at her features.

“I asked if you’re okay,” she said, sitting down so she was facing him at the bed next to his wheelchair and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Mom was right, you do seem distracted today. Are you still bothered about Rich?”

Jake opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket. With a start, he quickly moved to pull it out, hoping to see a reply from--

Dustin Kropp.

With a heavy sigh, he threw the phone down at the bed and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“I just,” Jake started, cutting off with a frustrated noise. “I just want to know he's okay. But he hasn't even read my messages.”

“The guy snapped and set your house on fire, Jake. I think it's safe to say he’d want to keep his distance,” Chloe said. When Jake just kept almost pouting at the ceiling, she sighed dramatically. “Look, will it make you feel better if I told you he’s fine?”

“How do you know?”

“He told me, duh. Here, see?”

That made Jake’s head snap back up. He was met with Chloe holding out her phone towards him, opened on a text conversation between her and Rich. There had been a significant gap of time between his responses, but he had at least read them and replied. One message said he was trying to just take it easy now that he was home, and Jake got stuck on that one, eyes lingering a few seconds longer than necessary.

“What the hell,” he said then. “Why is he answering you but not me?”

“I don't know, Jake. Maybe I'm just that much more charming than you?” She was teasing, but seeing how Jake only frowned, she sobered up. “Want me to tell him to talk to you?” she asked. Jake sighed.

“Nah, that would just make it weird.”

“If you say so,” she hummed. “Are you still not going to tell me what you guys talked about?”

Instead of answering, Jake spun his wheelchair around (a feat that was much harder than it had any right to be, really) and rolled up to Chloe’s desk, poking at some of the doodles and notes laid out there. He heard a deep sigh, but still didn’t turn to look at her.

How could he tell her? How could he tell _anyone_ , for that matter? What Rich had told him had sounded insane, like a bad movie plot; they had _tiny computers_ in their heads. Yet he had believed him. Because the way Rich had acted, the way he spoke of it, like it hurt to tell him, was enough to convince him he was telling the truth. But it was not his truth to tell to Chloe, and he was absolutely certain she wouldn’t believe him if he did. So instead he deflected.

“I don't get why you have to know so badly,” he muttered. He watched her roll her eyes in return.

“Because, Jake, Rich set a house on fire and after all the rumors that have been going around, I'm dying to know what actually happened.”

“Wow. So it's just a gossip thing? Harsh, Chloe.”

“Oh shut up. Like you've always had such pure motives,” she snapped, and Jake’s mind wandered unbidden to girls like Madeleine and Christine. It made his cheeks warm with shame in spite of himself.

“I'm still not telling you,” he said with finality. Chloe groaned and flopped down dramatically on her bed.

“Fine, then I'm not telling you about anything else Rich has said. I'll just let you live in blissful ignorance forever.”

As if to prove her point, she took out her phone and started tapping away on it, probably texting someone. When Jake complained about how that wasn't fair _at all_ , she sat back up and threw a pillow at him, dragging a surprised yelp from him.

"I'm injured! Shouldn't you be more sympathetic?"

"Aw, but I _am_ sympathetic, Jakey," she said, voice dripping with fake sweetness as she batted her eyelashes at him. Jake groaned.

"You're the absolute worst, Chloe."

"You're just grumpy you can't get laid like this." She gave his cheek a pat, the gesture laying just in-between affectionate and patronizing.

"The _worst_ ," he repeated.

"Good for you that we agreed to not keep dating then, if I'm so horrible."

She said it with an air of indifference, but it made Jake pause. He looked at her, taking her in for a moment. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

"You know I don't really mean it, Chlo. I honestly don't know what I'd even do without you," he said as earnestly as he could. Chloe blinked at him, surprised.

"Uh, duh. And you know I'm just screwing with you, right?" she asked back, raising a perfect, pointed eyebrow. Jake nodded. "Good. Now let's get alcohol and popcorn and watch a movie to forget our problems, like good teenagers."

Jake didn’t think he had ever heard a better suggestion in his life.

***

When he went to school the following Monday, the anxious feeling still followed him. He knew that Rich was texting some people at least, even if he left all of Jake’s as unread, but he couldn’t help the concern that filled him at the idea of Rich all alone in his home after everything that happened. He rubbed a hand over his cast as he distractedly grabbed some books from his locker, momentarily lost in the memory of Rich’s vacant eyes in the hospital room. With a heavy sigh, he closed the locker and, with some effort, turned his wheelchair around to get to class. Or, he was going to, before he spotted a familiar face further down the corridor. A face belonging to someone who might have more answers for his worries.

"Jeremy!" he called out. The boy in question startled a little as he came up next to him. He always seemed tense nowadays.

"Oh, hey Jake."

"Hey, man. Listen, have you heard anything from Rich lately?" he asked, cutting right to the chase.

"Uh, yeah, we've been talking a bit since he got out of the hospital, but I haven't really heard anything in a few days now," Jeremy explained, and Jake swore under his breath, his concern growing.

"Do you think he's okay?" he found himself asking. Jeremy’s eyebrows pulled down in a considering frown, eyes darting to the floor.

"That's-- I mean, it's… There's been a lot going on for him. I-- I honestly don't know. Why, did he tell you something?"

"No, that's exactly the problem,” Jake sighed. “He hasn't answered anything I've sent him at all since he got out. I don’t know what else to do."

His voice faltered at the admission, and silence fell between them. He saw Jeremy’s fists clench and unclench a few times, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. He was clearly hesitating about something.

"Listen, Jake,” he says finally. “You, uh… Rich told me you know about the--" he started, before cutting off abruptly and glancing around. When he looked back at Jake, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "… The SQUIPs, right?" Jake gave him a quick nod. "Right, w-well, they're… They mess you up, a lot. I had mine for two months, and it was hell." He swallowed, rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. "I'm not saying anything's wrong - he seemed okay whenever we talked, but…"

Jeremy was chewing his lip again, clearly uncomfortable, and Jake decided to take pity on him.

"I get it. Thanks, buddy."

"No problem. Look, I gotta get to class, but I'll see you at lunch?" Jeremy asked tentatively. Jake gave him a grin and gave his back a friendly pat.

"Yeah, sure thing!"

The school day passed rather uneventfully after that. Jake found himself looking at his phone several times throughout the day, and eventually decided that his best option at that point was to simply wait it out. Rich would be well enough to come back to school at the start of December, Jake knew. He just had to be patient and not push until then.

He counted the days, tried to ignore his and Rich’s chat and the unread messages in it, and went through life as normally as he could while having two broken legs and living in his ex-girlfriend’s guest room until, finally, it was December.

Rich didn’t show.

Jake asked Jeremy, but he didn't know anything; he hadn't heard from Rich for days. Neither had Chloe or Brooke. Jake’s messages, just as before, remained unread. Brooke tried to calm him down, reassuring him that Rich was probably just taking an extra rest day and would show the next day.

The next day came and passed without Rich showing up, and everyone’s concern was clearly growing. By the third day of Rich not showing, Jake had had enough. Right as the lunch bell rang, he packed his stuff and, as inconspicuous as he could be in a wheelchair, left the school.

***

While the elevator of the beat up apartment complex Rich lived at slowly climbed higher, Jake felt a knot of anxiety build in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he would find once he reached Rich's place, or if he would even open the door for him at all. Keeping his eyes trained on the small display where the numbers counted up, he tapped nervously at the cast on his leg until the display finally stopped with a _ding_. With a deep, steadying breath, he rolled his wheelchair out of the elevator and down the corridor. He stopped when he reached a door with the nameplate spelling “Goranski”. Before he could think about it any further, he reached up and pressed the doorbell, held it for a few seconds, and then waited.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again, holding it for several seconds this time - he figured he couldn’t really risk annoying anyone if no one was actually home - until he finally heard signs of movement on the other side of the door. Finally, with a click signaling it was being unlocked, the door opened to reveal none other than Rich Goranski himself, and Jake felt his breath catch in his throat.

Rich looked… exhausted, in a word. There was a closed off expression on his face only broken up by what Jake assumed was annoyance at being bothered; his hair was an unruly mess and he was wearing an oversized t-shirt and loose sweatpants, further adding to the exhausted look. But what Jake’s eyes caught on the most was the angry red marks crawling up Rich’s neck and part way up his left cheek. It was undeniable proof of what had happened, possibly forever etched onto his body, and Jake felt something cold churn in his stomach.

“Jake?” Rich asked quietly, disbelief coloring his voice. “What…?”

“Hey. Can I, uh… come in?”

For a moment, he was sure that Rich would turn him away, but after a tense moment of hesitation, he stepped to the side and opened the door wider to accommodate the wheelchair.

He hadn't been there often; Rich generally didn't like having people over, and given what Jake knew about his dad, he could understand why. Even so, the apartment looked exactly like he remembered from the last time he had been there: a small, messy hallway leading to a living room with a couch and a worn armchair around a small coffee table facing a large TV. He cringed internally at the amount of empty beer cans and bottles that littered the table and the floor around the chair.

“So?” Rich asked, pulling Jake’s attention back. He was determinedly not looking at Jake, his arms (which Jake noticed were covered in some kind of skin colored fabric) crossed and his tone clipped and cagey. “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to check how you were doing, man.”

“Fine,” he said with a tense shrug. “Sore and itchy all over, and I have to use crazy amounts of moisturizer daily, but--” he cut off suddenly. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “It’s fine.”

“You haven't been to school yet, though,” Jake pointed out, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“What are you, my teacher?” He rolled his eyes. “I needed more time. It's not a big deal, so you can get off my back about it.”

"I'm just worried about you, dude."

Rich snorted humorlessly.

"Why do you even care?"

"Because you're my best friend!"

That earned him a laugh; it sounded so harsh and forced it nearly made him flinch.

"Some best friend I am! I burned down your fucking house and spent our entire friendship lying to your face. You don't even fucking know me, Jake!"

Silence fell heavy in the wake of Rich’s shouting. It felt suffocating, and Jake desperately tried to think of what to do or say. In the midst of it all, he also noticed that same lisp he had heard in the hospital, but he decided to file that away for later. Instead, he took a deep, steadying breath.

"Do you hate me?" he finally asked, and it seemed to have caught Rich off-guard.

"W-what?"

"If all of it was just acting or whatever, does that mean you never gave a shit about me in the first place? Was all of that just a lie too?"

"I-- of course not!" Rich defended. He had an almost frantic expression on his face as he did.

"Then I don't care. I don't give a shit if you lied or pretended or whatever. I've had a lot of fun just hanging out and talking with you. And I don't want to think every second of that was just me."

They fell silent again. Rich wouldn’t look at him; instead, he let his gaze fall to the floor. His jaw was tense, and his eyes looked glassy in a way that made Jake’s heart jump with worry.

"Jake, I… I can't do it,” he said, his voice so small it was almost a whisper. “I can't go back. I d-don't…” He trailed off, blinked against the tears that were starting to fall down his face. “I have no idea how to act anymore. I don't know how much of me is even me or… or it. I--"

"Hey, shh, come on, dude. It'll be fine, yeah? We can… We can figure it out,” Jake tried to reassure, giving what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “Please look at me, dude."

Rich shook his head and curled in on himself, making himself seem even smaller than he physically was. His shoulders were shaking, and his breath was starting to sound ragged. Jake watched as he slowly backed up, away from him, until his legs hit the couch, where he sat and curled up, hugging his legs tight to his body as if he could make himself disappear if he just made himself small enough.

"You don't get it! Th-the person I was before w-wasn't-- wasn't worth shit!” he choked out. “He was an invisible loser who would've been better off dead! And I can't-- I can't--"

He was breathing too hard, pulling at his hair, and his eyes were panicked, and Jake felt dread pool in his gut. He reached out to touch, to calm, but Rich flinched back, drawing away from him.

"Rich… You-- you gotta breathe, man. Come on… Please."

His hand hovered near Rich, still, and he moved it closer again slowly, until he could place his palm on Rich's arm. Rich jerked at the touch, but he didn't move away again, which Jake took as a good sign. He squeezed slightly, swallowing hard against his own rising panic. He had no idea what to do as Rich tried to gulp down air too fast. He could only sit there, slowly and carefully rubbing up and down Rich's arm with his hand and make what he hoped were soothing, calming sounds. It took a very long time before Rich's breathing slowed down to something closer to normal again.

“I'm-- I’m scared,” he whispered. “I’m fucking terrified, Jake. I d-don't know how to do this.” He sounded so hoarse and broken, so defeated, that Jake felt his heart break.

“We’ll figure it out, dude. Somehow. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?” Rich gave him a disbelieving look, and Jake winced when he realized how idiotic that sound. Still, he shook his head, determined to not back down. “I’m serious. What is the worst you think might happen?”

“I…” Rich tried, but nothing followed. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, while Jake watched him with as much patience as he could. Eventually, he curled back in on himself, hiding his marred face against his knees. He mumbled something into the fabric of his pants.

“What?”

“You’re going to hate me,” he finally heard.

“Rich… You literally burned my house down, and I’m still here, aren’t I? I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“You should,” he stressed, voice coming out frantic. “Everything that happened, every single fucking thing, was my fault!” He clutched hard at his pants where his hands curled around his legs, enough for the knuckles to turn white. The lisp had gotten even more pronounced. “And-- and even if you’re too fucking stupid to get that, others will, and I’ll have to go back and face all of them and all the shit they’ve been saying, and…” He took a deep breath, but it only seemed to rattle him more, and Jake could only watch as he went on, even as he looked Jake right in the eyes, his gaze hard in an attempt to hide the panic still visible in it. “You want to know what the worst thing that could happen is? I’ll come back labeled an outcast and a freak, hated by everyone because they all realized the truth about me. That I just ruin everything I touch and that I’m better off dead.”

“Rich, you-- that’s not true,” Jake tried. Rich had said it with so much finality that it nearly punched the air out of his lungs. “Come on, man, you _know_ that isn’t true,” he stressed, but Rich had looked away again and wouldn’t meet his eyes. He had started getting that same far-off look as he had in the hospital again, and Jake hated it; hated the cold dread the sight filled him with. He had to _do_ something. “Fucking--… Just… come here,” he said, and was silently counting his victory when Rich looked back at him in confusion. “Come on,” he tried again, gesturing for his friend to come closer, and he did, slowly and hesitantly, until Jake grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn’t a tight hug, not yet, and he instantly apologized when Rich gasped. For a panicked moment, he was worried he had hurt his still healing skin, but Rich shook his head and quietly whispered that it was fine. So Jake hugged him. They stayed like that for several minutes, even though the position was somewhat awkward with Rich half looming over him from where he kneeled on the couch. When Rich finally pulled back, he grimaced.

“I lied. My skin hurts like a bitch,” he said. Before Jake could say anything, however, Rich gave him the thinnest of smiles. It wasn’t much, but… it was still a smile. With a jolt, Jake noticed that he looked more present than he had all evening. When Rich whispered “thanks,” he couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re welcome. Though, uh, sorry. About your skin.”

“It’s fine. I brought it on myself, anyway,” he dismissed with a shrug. Jake bit his tongue for a moment, hesitating.

“I gotta ask. Why you, y’know…” He trailed off, and cursed internally when Rich’s eyes shuttered a little again.

“I’d rather you didn’t. Not yet, at least.”

“Rich… We have to--”

“I know,” he interrupted, somewhat harshly. He was resolutely not looking at Jake again, his eyes instead glued to the floor. “It’s just a lot to unpack, and I can’t do that right now. I really can’t.”

With a sigh, Jake relented and simply said, “Okay.”

Silence washed over them, somewhat companionable yet still heavy, and it brought a weariness with it from the aftermath of Rich’s freak-out. Jake threw his friend a glance, hoping that him being there helped even just a little, at least. He did seem calmer, content to sit quietly and simply breathe the same air, so Jake stayed put, doing nothing to disrupt the fragile atmosphere between them.

Eventually, though, a thought started nagging at the back of his mind, until it grew too loud to ignore. It reminded him of the reason he had come there in the first place, and he cleared his throat just a little to bridge the silence and get Rich’s attention again.

“You should come back to school, you know,” he said. He saw Rich immediately tense up, and hurried to add: “It’ll be okay! I’ll have your back, so you won’t be going it alone. Seriously, it’ll be fine!”

“I… I can’t believe you,” Rich said slowly, as if struggling to get the words out. “But… Fine. Whatever, I guess, right?”

He tried to give Jake a smile, but it came out looking more like a panicked grimace. Jake still smiled back, though, wide and happy.

“Awesome!”

“I seriously don’t get you,” he heard Rich mumble, but there was unmistakably something fond mixed into the confusion, so Jake let it slide with a laugh. He was about to reply, when Rich spotted something behind him and visibly tensed up even more. He let out a curse, and Jake was instantly worried again.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“My dad will come home from work soon,” he rushed to explain, and Jake glanced behind himself to see the clock on the TV showing that it was already 3:46. How was it already that late?

“Okay… So?”

“So,” Rich said, annoyed and frantic, “you can’t be here when he gets back.”

Jake gaped at him, but Rich wouldn’t look at him, too busy glaring at the clock. He knew what kind of man Mr Goranski was. He had met him before, briefly, and had instantly disliked him, and every word he’d ever heard Rich speak of him had only added to the feeling. He wanted to protest, come up with an excuse to stay, but he took in the painfully tense line of Rich’s shoulders, how his hands were clutching at the fabric of his sweatpants, and he faltered.

“Alright,” he said instead, “I get it.” He sighed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to fully regret it when he saw some of the tension seep out of Rich again. “I mean, I’m not happy just leaving you here to fend for yourself, but… You know best how to handle him, right?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” was Rich’s reply, and for a moment it seemed like it was the same old Rich as always. Jake knew better though. Still, he gave him a smile that he hoped came off as supportive and started maneuvering his wheelchair around towards the hallway.

“So… see you tomorrow?” he asked tentatively. Rich huffed out a breath.

“Yeah. See you.”

Just as Jake was about to leave, he paused in the doorway and looked back. “Oh, and Rich? Try to text me back sometimes, okay?” It earned him a twitch of the other’s lips that could’ve been a small smile, and it was good enough for him.

When he finally rolled his wheelchair out of there and made his way down in the elevator, he thought that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow could be a better day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! Please leave a comment with any thoughts or predictions you might have, or even just incoherent keysmashing! Comments seriously make my day and are what keeps me writing, so much appreciated! <3
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr here:  
> <http://my-dreams-start-with-you.tumblr.com/>  
> or  
> <http://kamikazeworld.tumblr.com/>
> 
> Please come say hi! I'm more active than my inconsistent posting would have you believe slfgjbg


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